


My Despite

by Melancholy_Incarnate



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: American Revolution, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Magic, Magical Tattoos, Murder, Period-Typical Racism, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melancholy_Incarnate/pseuds/Melancholy_Incarnate
Summary: There is naught but ink beneath my skin. How deep it goes, how free I flow, alive and breathing malice down your neck. So vicious, rarely viscous, I have power in more than meaning. O, needle dipped in hate, pierce my flesh and drink in my despite, tattoo my wrath upon the sky.A demon who was once a killer fueled by grief and righteous anger has been stuck in Hell for two and a half centuries. She witnessed one successful revolution, and is ready to start a new one. She will do anything to see the people she became a killer for, even if that means breaking down the gates of Heaven.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader, Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel) & Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Virginia, 1773**

Frost decorated the edges of the leaves like gilding on the pages of a bible, glittering silver and white in the meager sun. It was mid-November, and I was busy as ever washing linens for the local brothel. (If I know anything about brothels, it's that they can always use an extra laundry girl.) My fingers were numb as I scrubbed the blood-soaked sheets. No matter how warm the water was when I began it always became unbearably cold by the time I was finished. I always hated washing linens. When I was a girl I daydreamed I would be swept away by some handsome plantation owner and live my days in luxury. Then when I got a little older I thought I might be able to sell fresh meats to the butchers. But no one will buy rabbits from a fourteen-year-old orphan, especially not a _girl_. So I got a job from Miss Emily. It's certainly no prestigious position, and I was looked down on by most of the women in town, but what else was I to do? Marry one of the few bachelors? I'd rather starve. So I washed linens for two years, learning to weave in my spare time. Sewing. Embroidering. I am a fairly accomplished seamstress out of necessity, and that's earned me a little extra money, but I don't have enough customers for it to actually be a sustainable career. I hated my job and I hated my life. All except for the rent girls. They became my sisters and mothers after I was hired to do the washing. I lived in one of the smaller rooms, tucked away in a corner. It was tiny and had a problem with drafts through a crack I never managed to find, but it was better than the alternatives.

The alternatives were sleeping on the streets and begging or going into the woods to try and live on my own. Either way I probably wouldn't last a month. Beasts of one kind or another lurked. And I was not going to be a prostitute, no matter how unsubtly Miss Emily hinted that I'd do well. Too much of a temper. I'd end up saying something too scathing for a client's taste and get my face beaten to pulp. I'd seen it happen, once. And it was more than enough. Poor Prudence had lost her baby, and a john had commented that he liked her much better when she wasn't with child and she snapped, saying she liked him much better when he was clothed and she couldn't see his disgusting body. He beat her so hard we were afraid she might not make it. But this fucker was _careful_. Made sure Prudence wouldn't die, but that she would _hurt_. Made sure she would be ugly. Made sure she would look in the mirror and hate herself. And she did. For four months she sobbed whenever she saw her reflection. I caught her with a knife to her eye once, ready to put them out because she couldn't bear to see the scars anymore. We tried to help her, but she was hurting so bad it couldn't be borne. And so on her twenty-second birthday she took that same silver knife to her wrists. I found her in the morning, cold and alone on her bed, looking for all the world as if she were merely asleep. The only thing that marred the image was the blood-soaked sheets. To see her like that filled me with a hatred so fierce it could tear a man's throat out. And tear a man's throat out it would.

I took that silver knife- pried it out of Prudence's cold grasp. That night I lurked outside the tavern the man who **killed Prudence** frequented. Elijah Derwin, serial adulterer, was nearing thirty-five. His hair was the only pretty thing about him, curly and brown. The rest of him was not so nice. He was of average height and tended to fat. He had a cruel mouth, always set in a sneer, and usually used to belittle others. His eyes were a hard blue, and when I last saw them, full of glee at the pain he was inflicting on Prudence. Normally they held lust or quiet malice. Tonight they would hold fear. 

I waited for him to leave the tavern. Fortunately for me, he had no companion tonight. I sashayed up to him with the learned seduction of a girl in a whorehouse. As I stood before this loathsome creature, I wrung my hands, feigned nervousness reflecting real anxieties. Justice would not be denied tonight. 

"Hello," I greeted with a false brightness, looking over my shoulder towards the woods.

"Hello," he replied, openly gaping at my chest exposed by the low-cut dress. "What's a gorgeous thing like you doing out so late?"

"I- Oh, well," I schooled a blush onto my face. It wasn't hard, this was humiliating. "I suppose I just lost track of the time, and it's so _dark_ \- And would you mind terribly walking me home?"

"Of course not, sweetheart," Elijah leered. "Just tell me where you live and I'll take you home." He flashed a grin as if what he was about to say was the most charming thing I would ever hear. "Maybe I could even stay the night, keep you warm. It is so very _cold_ tonight, isn't it?"

I giggled and looked away, filled with revulsion. His grubby hands were on my wrists, _touching me._ It took all the willpower I had not to yank my hands away.

"Would you be so kind? I live in the woods just there, by the stream."

"A pretty girl like you should live closer. Why don't you come home with me tonight?"

_No no no never. You killed Prudence._

"Perhaps... Another night. For tonight though..."

He briefly looked crestfallen, but regained his former vigor at the thought of bedding me in my own home.

"Let's go before the hour is too late!" I insisted with my most mischievous grin.

The woods were cold and dark and damp, and I nearly forgot where I left the oilskin and wine.

Elijah looked a little out of breath, and a little confused when I stopped to face him, but more excited.

"You look thirsty," I said with all the subtlety of a mule cart at mass. "Here." I pulled out the bottle of wine I had stashed beneath the oilskin and handed it to Elijah. He was already drunk enough from his night at the tavern that he didn't question it and drank down half the bottle. He sat heavily on a nearby log, still sucking down the red. The log was slimy and covered with an unhealthy-looking moss, certain to stain trousers if sat upon, but Elijah couldn't be bothered to care.

"Where did you get this?" He marveled. "It's _ecshellent,_ " he slurred. I didn't answer

When he looked so tired he might fall asleep, I stepped around behind him, breath in his ear like a lover.

"Oh, Elijah," I purred. "You have _no idea_ how long I've wanted to do this."

I had wrapped myself in the oilcloth like a cloak, covering as much of myself as I could with it before bringing my arms around him. My embrace was momentary and held cold death, but he leaned into it. In a flash of silver the knife slashed his throat, hard and deep. He made a squawking gurgle and I yanked him backward off the log, dropping the remnants of the drugged wine bottle to spill into the earth. His hands clasped over the gash in his neck in a doomed attempt to keep his life from spilling away into the black dirt like the wine. Fleeting. It is human nature to think oneself invincible, but he was coming to face the hard fact that he was not. 

"You killed Prudence."

I kicked him once as he stared up at me with those terrified eyes, mouth no longer in a cruel sneer, but gaping like a fish, spilling blood. It streamed out from between paling fingers, seeping into his clothes to turn them red. His heels thudded against the ground in a final, fruitless effort to kick away the death that fast approached. But there was no recovery, no escape. Even if I had regretted my actions (I didn't) there would be no saving him. The last thing he saw was my face, and I hoped it would haunt him through the afterlife. When he was surely dead, I carved eight letters onto his forehead. There was barely enough room, but I made them fit.

**MURDERER**

Tossing tree branches over that bastard's corpse was one of the best feelings of my life. In the stream I washed the knife, the oilcloth, and my hands. There would be nothing connecting me to this murder. The wine bottle hadn't been mine and no one had seen me steal it. No one had seen me go off with Elijah into the woods. It was a clean getaway. This time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, dears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief snapshot of domesticity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: transphobic slur

**Pentagram City, Pride, 1947**

_Atop my head sits a crown of sharp bleached-white bone. My power was once small in Hell, more than one hundred fifty years I have waited, but the ink dripped dripped dripped and contamination has spread beneath the skin of Hell. Every tattoo, rich in meaning, rich in power, all mine. For years I poked my needle into many. The dragons and fish and words that adorn the bodies of my customers await my word. The designs on those who died already inked by mortal hands, too, lick at my mind, obedient dogs greeting their mistress. All want to rise from their bleak inaction. To be Alive. The time is not yet here, but every day it nears._

The chime of eleven silver bells announced my presence, clear ring accompanying my every step. Antlers curved in a "C" shape, eleven sharp tines with a bell hung from each. One antler is scarred where I broke off a point to make my needles, oh-so-many years ago. Through the market I go, mostly unnoticed except by my regular clients. Unbothered. Untethered. The black calls to me, the place from which my creatures first appeared. One of them swims to the surface of my skin and curls around my shoulders to whisper. They watch without eyes, hear without ears, looking through each of the tattoos on the denizens of this foul place, watching for opportunities. My servants, my children, my shadows. I ignored them. Attention-hungry little assholes, all of them.

I stopped before a fruit vendor, looking at her array of goods. It was all excellent; what else could one expect of food grown in Gluttony? I picked up a pomegranate, hefting it in my hands. I'd never had a pomegranate, back when I was alive. Virginia wasn't exactly the ideal climate for exotic fruits. I plucked one more from the crate, along with six apples. A lovely young demon had just given me the most wonderful apple pie recipe the previous week and I was simply _dying_ to try it out. _B_ _roken arrow arrow broken arrow on on arrow her shoulder left left shoulder left blade,_ my shadows supplied, un-voices echoing, speaking over one another.

"What have I said about the talking over each other?"

 _Don't don't don't do don't do it it,_ they hummed sheepishly.

"Please try to remember. I love you, but all of you chattering at once gives me a headache, remember?"

I had long since stopped caring what other demons thought of my seemingly talking to nothing at all, but tried not to make a habit of it. A pair of eft-like demons gave me an odd look before clutching their shopping bags closer and hurrying away. It was rather queer, to say the least; I wasn't particularly frightening. I was fairly small for a demon, and my antlers were arguably the most frightening thing about me, but the bells and red ribbon tied about them mostly made me appear festive. Cute. Which was rather the point. Nonthreatening as I looked, there was no real reason for those newtish folks to fear me. None they should know about, anyway. For that was what their expressions had conveyed. Fear. Strange.

I pulled out a few dollars and paid the towering tortoise and turned to go home. 

"See you later, Martha Mae!" I called to her as I began my walk.

"What the fuck? What the fuck? Jee-sus Christ! Oh God," someone shouted. "What the fuck!"

Curiously, I turned to see a towering furry white... something in a disheveled suit and hat stumbling through the narrow street, wide-eyed and flinching at almost every demon passing. _New here. None of my business._

I turned back to go around the long way. If I helped every new soul in Hell, I'd have no time to do anything else. New souls dropped every day, every hour, every _minute_ , probably. He'd figure it out or he wouldn't. 

"Hey! Hey you! With the horns!"

My ear twitched. Cripes. That really got on my nerves. I tensed my shoulders and turned slowly to glare up at the six-armed asshole who had insulted me.

"They're antlers! I'm no goat!"

"Okay, fine, you with the _antlers."_ He looked me up and down. "What are ya, a tranny? Thought only male deer had antlers."

I sniffed and started to walk away, shouting over my shoulder. This fucking guy-

"I'm a reindeer, asshole! _Rangifer tarandus_. Caribou. You know, the only species of deer where both sexes have antlers! And that is NOT an okay question to ask!"

"Jeez, fine, I'm _sorry_! Not judging if you are, just- you look pretty normal here, huh? Where the fuck am I?" He gestured with all six of his arms before noticing and pointedly folding the lower two pairs behind his back where he could no longer see them. _Self-conscious, then._

"Well, mister, welcome to hell. All the sins you could want. Drugs, alcohol, sex, whatever. Goodbye!" I was more than a little angry at this spindly fuck, and I could feel Golden itching to come out and give him a piece of my mind. 

"Wait! Wait, please," he pleaded. "I dunno what ta do! I dunno-"

"Find your abilities and go do whatever! It's very simple. You should have an innate sense of your abilities, now leave me alone and figure it out!" I was being harsh and I knew it. I was sent to hell for being a killer, not for being a cantankerous bitch.

The spider stood in blank silence for only a moment.

"Abilities?"

I sighed. Theodosia wouldn't have left him to fend for himself. Fuck, even Prudence might've shouted at me for abandoning this guy. I could practically _feel_ them glaring down at me from Heaven. _Miss Emily took you in when you had nothing, nowhere to go, and now that you have the same opportunity to sort of spiritually repay her, you walk away?_ I frowned at that thought. God, it sucks to have a semi-functioning conscience.

"Fine. Fine! Come with me." 

"Come with ya where," he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"My shop. I have a client appointment in ten minutes, we can talk on the way and after. Or during, if my client says it's alright." Without looking to see if he was following, I marched off towards the tattoo parlor, apple basket gripped in my faintly clawed fingers. 

His shoes clattered behind and beside me as he caught up, obviously having taken a moment to make the decision to come with me.

"So what's _your_ abilities, huh?" 

"Well, I can see ultraviolet. Mostly It just means I have an extra color. I think it's pretty swell, but bodily fluids glow like beacons, so it's also pretty gross."

"That ain't much of an ability, toots." He was getting on my nerves again. This guy was the type to needle and bother people all the time. He obviously wasn't on a quest to be liked. 

"Hmm. How about this, then." The pentagram-sun was descending behind us in the sky, casting short shadows ahead. Mine opened its eyes and grinned open-mouthed to show off two rows of pointed teeth. Before my obnoxious companion could say a word, it winked and grabbed his foot to trip him up, yanking him to his knees before returning to its static position before me, eyes and mouth closed, looking for all the world like an ordinary shadow. 

"Madonna mia. What else can ya do?"

"Not much," I lied. 

He peered at me suspiciously. "Are ya su-"

"Oh look! We're here." I opened the door in a hurry, rushing inside to put away my groceries and turn on the lights. My parlor was rather spacious, but it didn't need to be. There was only one artist, and that was me. Thus there was a significant amount of space to be taken up, and I had acquired many a thing over my century and a half in hell. Little tables and shelves housed my collection of various knick-knacks. A brass armillary globe, a telescope, glass jellyfish under a bell jar, a ceramic octopus in a teacup, and a variety of other strange little items were charmingly strewn about the place. Seashells, lamps, and even an enormous Rodgers anchor. There was a definite nautical theme, albeit one unintentional. 

The spider glanced around as he ducked through the doorway. _God, but he's tall_. He puttered about, looking at all my things.

"Do you have a name or should I just keep calling you mister?" I asked, perhaps a little more sharply than I intended. 

"Anthony," he said, distracted by the large bowl of water on a table by a window, fuzzy green balls resting in the sea glass on the bottom.

"Hurt that and I'll have your hide for a rug. I've had that for a hundred years, and I don't need _you_ breaking it."

"Jeez, how long ya been here for then?"

"It's 1947 up top, right?"

"Yeah."

"A hundred and sixty-six years."

He whistled. "That's quite a while, toots."

"Don't I know it."

The tinkle of the bell above the door was lower and louder than the high chimes of my bells, and almost made me jump out of my skin. A bear-like man paler than snow stooped beneath the lintel. His skin was paper-white, much lighter than any man's skin could be. His hair was shaggy and white, too, generally disarrayed. Buried in his fur-like hair was a pair of fuzzy round ears.

"Davin!"

I ran up to give him a hug, his arms open wide and head leaned all the way back out of range of my antlers. Anthony watched in wary curiosity, still unsure what kind of business exactly I was running outta this joint.

"It's so good to see you! I almost thought you'd been caught up in the Extermination until you booked an appointment," I exclaimed, stepping back.

"Oh, I almost was!" Davin replied. His voice was jarringly British, with an air of educated sophistication contrasting his enormity and appearance. "But I managed to get inside the house just in time. They were distracted by some poor sinner on the corner of 3rd."

I gasped. "Not Cracknut Harold, surely?"

"Oh, no, he's fine. Little banged up after a scuffle with some of the Vile brothers up by Waterfront, but other than a bit more sour than usual, he's just about fine," he said, waving away my concern. "Anyways, I have such a story for you! Let's get started, and I'll tell you while you work."

I nodded and we walked over to the elevated table. It was more bed than actual table, cushioned and soft for just this kind of work. He unbuttoned his blue plaid shirt and slid it off to reveal tattooed patterns on arms and lower back, lying down on the table with a little huff. 

"Eighteen dollars or an item equivalent," I reminded.

Davin nodded. "Same rates as usual, I assume."

I grabbed my pen and began to draw large circles just below his broad shoulders. 

"So, tell me that story!" I pestered as I worked.

"So, you know I was in that swamp outside the city doing some research for my book, right?"

"Of course, of course!"

"Well, I was walking through the crawling vines when I came upon the most marvelous beast. Monstrous, massive! Ash gray with six legs, two extra claws on each foot. Spectacular jaws, long as my arm! Large as _deinosuchus rugosus_ , if not even bigger! I-"

"Large as what?" Anthony interjected.

"Prehistoric giant crocodilian," Davin explained absently. "Anyway, it had these six great lamp-like red eyes that seemed to glow with their own light and black teeth. I was getting closer, trying to see if it looked more alligatorish or crocodilian, when something deep in the swamp whistled. And it went! It went toward the whistle! Someone or something in that swamp had that thing at its beck and call! I imagine I won't be going back all that soon, because I followed the beast for a ways before I got caught by those blasted hooting herons. Almost got away with my leg, the little vermin. But I don't want to meet whatever or whoever can tame a _deinosuchus demonensis._ Hell knows I'm not all that powerful; I wouldn't stand a chance if they wanted to kill me. And that place felt distinctly malicious."

"It's hell. Everywhere _is_ distinctly malicious," I reminded him, getting my needles ready and making the first poke.

"I know, I know, but it didn't feel like _that_ before."

"Hmm," I hummed, mildly worried with a faint note of skepticism. "How's Amaruq doing?" I asked.

Davin seemed to melt. "He's wonderful," he smiled. 

"Who's Amaruq," Anthony not-so-subtly whispered in my ear.

"Davin's husband," I muttered back, Davin busy waxing poetic about his love.

"...and he calls me his darling Atiqtalaaq- his darling little polar bear," he sighed dreamily. 

"Oh, yer a _polar bear_ ," Anthony nodded. 

Davin looked startled. "Yes, couldn't you tell? My hands and feet are distinctly paw-like," he said lifting them to show off long black claws on wide short fingers. His fingertips and palms were darker than the rest of his skin, reminiscent of a paw print.

"Yes, yes, thank you, now _please_ stop moving your arms," I said, exasperation coloring my tone.


End file.
